rachel sat on the green chintz sofa staring at David, who slept in his bed across the room. He’d received some pretty powerful blows, especially to the head, and the group felt they should keep a careful eye on him. Rachel agreed to take the first watch. Though they’d not hit it off by any stretch of the imagination, she still couldn’t rid herself of the attraction. Maybe it was his quiet strength of character, his thoughtfulness. Of course she could tell she had a similar effect upon him, but she got that vibe from lots of guys. Yet with David it was different. The others reminded her of dogs in heat, as if feeling the attraction gave them the right to satisfy it. But not with this man. Maybe it was the courtesy and respect he showed her … when he wasn’t busy throwing her into icy streams. The fact is, she might have deserved that, coming on as strong as she had. But trying to relearn the whole singles’ scene was new to her, and she was bound to make a few mistakes.
The bottom line: there was a depth to this man. A sensitivity. Very much like Jerry. Dear, sweet Jerry …
“We can get through this. Together we can—”
“She’s our baby, I killed our—”
“Lots of women have abortions.”
“It’s not the same. You didn’t want to. From the start you said—”
“I’ll get over it.” He had reached out to her. “We’ll get over it.” She let him take her into his arms. Even with her suitcase packed and standing beside the door, even as she was leaving, he insisted upon holding her. “We’ll get over it,” he repeated. Against her will, she felt herself melting into his chest, feeling his favorite flannel against her cheek, smelling his Old Spice, believing it might actually work, until …
“We’ll have another and in time we won’t even remember—”
She stiffened.
“What? What’s wrong?”
She pulled her face away. “We can’t have another.”
“Right. I meant adoption.”
She closed her eyes, then took a step back.
“Rach, I meant adoption, you know what I meant.”
But she did know. She knew that no matter what he said, no matter how he tried to hide it, the disappointment would never fully leave.
“We’ll adopt a big family … a huge family.” He reached back for her. “We’ll—”
But she would have none of it. “No.”
“Rach—”
Using what little strength she had left, she reached down and grabbed her suitcase.
“Rachel …”
She pulled open the door and pushed the screen. It gave a mournful groan. Hot tears spilled onto her cheeks. “I’ll get the rest of the stuff when you’re at work.”
“Rachel … I love you.” The catch in his voice tore her heart, but she would not turn to face him. “We can get through this. I swear we can, if you would just—”
But she knew they couldn’t. After what she’d done to him. To them. He could say the words now, but in a month, a year, the truth would surface. He was saddled with damaged goods and could never have what he really wanted. The truth would return and it would break their hearts all over again, and then again, and again …
She stepped off the porch. It was cold and damp, a typical Seattle spring.
“Rachel, please …”
She headed down the cracked sidewalk to the taxi, uneven puffs of breath visible in the predawn air. Jerry kept calling after her, but she barely heard over her stifled sobs.
“Luke …”
She blinked away the memories to see David stirring in bed. She rose from the sofa and approached. Orbolitz still kept all lights in the lodge set low, and she could easily see David’s violet cloak continue to bubble and thicken, eating into his orange-red glow underneath. But its progress had slowed. At least for David. Over the last few hours, as the Presence increased, something else had begun to appear—a hollow pocket, no bigger than a fist, in the center of each of their chests. Well, hollow for Savannah, Albert, Starr, and herself. But for the others, including David, the pocket was filled with a very small but intense light. So white that it could clearly be seen underneath the other colors. So bright that, in David’s case, it seemed to give energy to his inner, orange-red glow—replenishing it, replacing from the inside what the darker, bubbling shell had been eating from the outside.
But that wasn’t the only addition. For as Orbolitz increased the Presence, Rachel began to hear the crying. It had begun two, three hours ago, and she recognized it immediately—from their session near the fireplace, on the badminton court, and, of course, from the dreams that had plagued her these many, many months.
“Luke …”
She moved closer. “David, it’s Rachel.”
His eyes fluttered open, searching the room until they focused on her. “Where’s my …” He coughed and tried again. “Where’s Luke?”
“He’s okay.” She gave a reassuring smile. “The last I saw he was out on the porch swatting mosquitoes. ‘Enjoying the silence,’ I think he said.” Trying to keep things light, she forced a chuckle. “Weird, huh? At least for a kid that age.”
David broke into another raspy cough. She turned for the pitcher of ice water on the bureau.
“What … time is it?” he asked.
“Almost seven.”
“At night?”
She poured the water into a glass. “You got beat up pretty bad.” She turned to see him struggling to sit up. “Take it easy. Not so fast.”
“Where … where is …” He coughed again.
“Orbolitz?” she asked, handing him the glass.
He nodded, drinking greedily.
“End of the hall. The bridal suite, I think.”
He practically choked. “He’s here? You let him stay?”
She motioned to his injuries. “He’s sort of calling the shots, if you hadn’t noticed. Says he wants to stay and see what’s happening firsthand—now that we’ve passed the first third of his little experiment. Last I heard we’d reached 36 percent.”
“Doesn’t he know we’ll go after him?”
“Considering his playmates, I doubt he’s given it much thought.” She noticed his shell beginning to bubble harder.
“There’s three times as many of us. We could band together, figure out a plan.”
“Except for all those video cameras.”
“No one’s even trying?” he asked incredulously. “No one’s leading?”
“I’m afraid you were the only taker. And I wouldn’t be planning for a rematch anytime soon.”
He sighed in frustration, then glanced down at himself and groaned. “It’s still here.”
She nodded. “Same for all of us. The darker light, the violet part, is a lot thicker. If you ask me, instead of getting rid of him, we’d do better finding a way to get rid of it.”
He looked back at her, frowning at what she knew were the dark multiple colors encircling her. “I’m all right,” she replied. “I know what they are. We’ve been together for a long time.” She took his glass and refilled it. “You, on the other hand …” She nodded at his violet shell. “Any idea what that’s all about?” She handed him the glass and he sighed wearily.
“Yes.”
She waited for more.
“It’s my hatred.”
“Your what?”
He closed his eyes. “My unforgiveness.”
“Unforgiveness?”
“Toward Orbolitz.”
“But … you have the right. You have more than enough reasons to—”
“I have every reason.” He opened his eyes, then continued, a bit sadder, “But I don’t have the right.”
“What does that mean?”
He thought a moment. “The whole basis of my faith, I mean everything I believe … it’s based on forgiveness.”
“I understand that, but Orbolitz … the man killed your daughter, he’s holding you prisoner. He could kill all of us.”
“I know, I know.” Again he closed his eyes. “But if I don’t forgive him … I won’t be forgiven.”
“What?”
Quietly, he quoted, “‘Forgive us our debts, as we forgive our debtors.’”
It is time to leave.
Rachel was surprised to hear Osiris’s voice. It was only the second time he’d spoken in David’s presence. He sounded agitated. And with the voice, the baby’s cries, which had been in the background, suddenly grew louder.
David continued. “That’s what Christ tells us to pray, ‘Forgive us our debts as we forgive our debtors.’”
Leave now.
Ignoring the voice, Rachel answered, “But how does that apply to you? The man’s a murderer … I don’t understand.”
Glancing at his bubbling shell, he gave another sigh. “Apparently neither do I. But as much as God forgives me … He expects me to forgive others.”
You must leave now!
She felt pressure underneath her breastbone, the type she always felt when Osiris insisted upon having his way. But she ignored it and continued. “What do you have to be forgiven of? Compared to Orbolitz, you’re a choirboy.”
David shook his head. “It’s all the same. Sin is sin. In the long run, we’re all equally as guilty.”
She almost laughed at the absurdity. “I wouldn’t be so sure of that.” Osiris pressed harder. She turned her head so David couldn’t see her wince.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean …” She worked to keep her voice even through the pain. “You have no idea what others have done. Albert, Savannah… me.”
“That’s just it … it doesn’t matter—”
The baby’s cries grew louder, turning into screams, making it more difficult to hear David.
“He will forgive anybody of anything.”
LEAVE! NOW!
Osiris’s intensity startled her. So did his sudden accusation.
MURDERER!
She caught her breath at the word, strained to hear David through the screams.
“Remember I said that was the whole purpose of Christ’s coming, so He could—”
TORTURER!
She gasped, leaning over, the pressure in her chest nearly unbearable.
“Are you all right?”
KILLER OF BABIES!
The pain rose from her chest into her throat. Her eyes began burning with moisture. But not from the pain. From David’s words. Was it possible? What he was saying? She shook her head. No. Fairy tales. Wishful thinking. She gasped again, her thoughts escaping. “No.”
“What?”
“There are some things—” She had to speak louder to hear over the screams. “There are some things that can never be forgiven.”
“But that was His whole purpose—”
She shook her head, giving a quick swipe at her eyes. “Some things cannot be forgiven.”
GO!
“But we can work at them. We can make them better.”
“No, that’s just it. Christ came to—”
She spoke even louder, quoting from the Rule of Three: “‘This is the lesson which thou must learn, Thou receives only what thou dost earn.’”
“What’s going on? Rachel, are you—”
TORTURER! BABY KILLER! GO!
Scowling, trying to persuade herself as much as David, she continued, nearly shouting. “You make mistakes, you make them right. The law of nature. Reciprocation.” She took a ragged breath, her mind racing. Wasn’t that exactly what she was doing with Starr? She couldn’t help her baby, but she could help Starr. And the others, like Savannah, like the thousands across the country desperate to reach their deceased loved ones. Making their life better, wasn’t that her purpose? Dedicating her life to their welfare meant fixing what she had ruined, erasing her actions, removing her own vile and unspeakable—
SLAUGHTERER OF INNOCENTS!
The phrase sucked all breath from her.
“Rachel?” David’s voice was far away. “Here, you’d better sit—”
DESTROYER! KILLER OF CHILDREN! GO! NOW!
She doubled over, grabbing her stomach, unable to breathe.
NOOOW … !
She turned and started for the door, nausea rising into her mouth.
“Rachel!”
She stumbled into the hallway, caught a glimpse of David trying to climb from his bed. She knew he was calling but she could no longer hear—not over the screams, the accusations, the all-consuming guilt.
thank you for dropping me off.”
“No prob,” Starr chirped as she wheeled Nubee into his room. It was cool hearing him talk so clearly. It was also cool seeing the way his glowing, orange-red light was solidifying into this lean, muscular man. It was hard to explain, but it looked exactly like she’d pictured him on the inside—strong, smart, intriguing. And, yes, attractive. Very attractive. The light didn’t freak her out, not like at the beginning. In fact, by now she was getting pretty used to it. And in Nubee’s case, she was actually liking it. “Want me to help you into bed?”
“No, thank you. Simply roll the chair beside it and lock the wheels. I shall do the rest.”
She nodded. But as she pushed the chair toward the bed an idea came to mind. At first she ignored it, thinking it was just plain stupid. But it wasn’t stupid. Not really. I mean, they’d been hanging together all these months—she a budding young woman, he a wiser, older man. And now, now that he was all together, now that he was becoming so cool, and since they had grown so close …
She shook her head at the thought. But it would not leave.
Besides, what had Rachel said about Wicca celebrating sensual pleasures? “If you enjoy something, you do it”? It’s not like they were sex fiends, Rachel had made that real clear. Rachel had made a lot clear. But the books she’d loaned her, the ones she’d been reading all evening, they did talk about sex. And they did say that if it was something you wanted, you were totally allowed to go for it … and enjoy it.
Enjoy it? Who was she kidding? She didn’t even know what she was supposed to enjoy. It’s not like she was ignorant; she’d seen plenty of people doing it in the movies and TV and stuff. And her friends were always talking about it. But the sad fact was, she was already fourteen, almost fifteen, and she still hadn’t done it. Course she wouldn’t admit that to anybody; but still, it’s not like she could stay dumb and naive her whole life. She had to grow up sometime. And since Nubee was a man, a real man now, and since he was older and more experienced, and since she’d have to do it sometime …
She looked down at him, watching as he unbuttoned his shirt. All right, fine. But how to begin? She didn’t want to come off sounding like some bad TV show or being all stupid and corny. She swallowed, noticing how dry her mouth had become. She thought of lighting up, but the movies always showed them doing that afterwards, not before.
Well … it was now or never.
She crossed in front of him and eased herself down onto his bed. “So … you got the room all to yourself, huh?” She pulled her legs under herself like she’d seen in the magazines and smiled in a way she hoped was suggestive.
“Yes.”
She watched as he worked to slip his right arm out of his shirt.
“Kinda lonely, isn’t it?”
Her smile tightened. “I mean, having a big room like this all to yourself?”
He shrugged, finishing his right sleeve and starting on his left.
She frowned, then lowered her voice. “A wonderful bed like this, that’s so soft and comfortable.”
“It’s okay.”
She pursed her lips. What’d she have to do, spell it out for him?
He pulled off his shirt and dropped it to the floor before reaching past her for his pajamas. She gently touched his arm.
He glanced up.
In her most mature voice she replied, “I could make it so things aren’t so lonely.”
He looked at her.
Why was he making this so hard? She held his eyes, doing her best to appear sultry, whatever that was. It must have worked, because he suddenly froze.
She gave him a knowing, encouraging smile … trying to hide her fear.
He glanced away, avoiding her eyes.
Poor guy, he must be nervous too. Okay, now what? Well, his shirt was off; it must be her turn. Unfortunately, she had several layers to go. First, she reached for the zipper of her sweatshirt. As she pulled it down, she noticed how thick and clumsy her fingers became. But she succeeded. Next, she reached for the top button of her shirt.
“No.”
She looked up at him, surprised.
He slowly shook his head. His eyes were filled with sadness, but something more.
She understood and forced another smile “You don’t have to be afraid, dear. I’m plenty experienced.” She unfastened the first button.
Again he shook his head. “No.”
“What?”
He swallowed, his eyes soulful, glistening with moisture.
“What?” she repeated.
Quietly, he quoted, “‘Avoid sexual immorality’”
She slowed to a stop.
“ ‘That each of you should learn to control his own body in a way that is holy and honorable.’” Of course. He was quoting the Bible again. But he wasn’t finished. He licked his lips, looking more than a little nervous. “‘—not in passionate lust like the heathen, who do not know God.’”
She watched as he swallowed, his forehead now having a slight sheen.
“‘Flee sexual immorality’”
She smiled, pleased at the effect she was having on him. “Oh, sweetie, there’s nothing immoral about this. This is only natural and—”
“‘Flee sexual immorality’” His words were strangely forceful. Stranger still was the mist that accompanied them. Silver puffs of breath came from his mouth with each syllable. For the briefest moment they joined together, forming a larger cloud, so shiny that Starr could actually see a reflection of herself. And what she saw made her gasp.
In the reflection she was having sex with another man. She blinked, not believing her eyes. The reflection changed, showing her with a different man. Then again with yet another. And another. Multiple images flickered past, in fractions of seconds, so vivid, so lurid.
“What are you doing?” she demanded. “That’s gross! Stop it!”
The cloud broke up, returning to a mist which quickly disappeared.
She stared, speechless, then looked back at Nubee.
He appeared equally as stunned.
She closed her eyes, shaking off the images, taking a purging breath. Everything about this place just kept getting weirder and weirder. But she’d put herself on the line this far; she couldn’t back down now. With more than a little trepidation, she started her next shirt button. It stuck and she had to glance down to undo it. Then, looking back at Nubee with pretend confidence, she started the next.
Again he opened his mouth. And again he spoke:
“‘All other sins a man commits are outside his body …’”
The silver puffs came and again formed into a larger, mirrored cloud.
“‘… but he who sins sexually sins against his own body’”
Different images appeared this time … a sweaty, terrified Starr in hospital stirrups, a doctor with a suction hose. She was having an abortion.
She stared at the scene, horrified.
… another image, older Starr, giving birth, screaming in pain …
“Nubee, stop it!”
… now she’s slouching, dirt poor, trying to quiet a screaming baby in her arms with two ragged toddlers shrieking at her feet …
“Stop it!”
… another hospital bed, her left cheek with a grotesque purple lesion, Kaposi Sarcoma—she’s seen it on other AIDS victims. Weakly, she turns to her newborn baby, his face covered with the identical sore.
“Stop it! Stop it!” Tears spilled onto her face as she grabbed her sweatshirt, breaking up the cloud and its images. “Why are you doing this to me?!”
He gave no answer.
“Why?” Her nose was running as she rose, stumbling away from the bed, wiping her face. She did not wait for an answer but headed for the door. She threw it open and raced into the hall, running down the corridor, wanting to scream, wanting to cry, wanting to be anywhere but there …
who are you?” Preacher Man fumbled for his glasses on the nightstand. “What’s going on?”
“Hey there, Billy Ray.”
He pulled on his glasses and squinted. Orbolitz and his two thugs stood just inside the room. “What do you want? What time is it?”
“Just past midnight.”
Taking a chair from the desk, Orbolitz dragged it to the bed and calmly sat on it. Behind him, his assistants placed two briefcases on the dresser and began unpacking them. All three were cloaked in such dark, thick light that it was nearly impossible to see their expressions. Orbolitz’s goggles made it even more difficult. Still, there was no missing his good-ol’-boy grin.
“And as far as what I want, I reckon that’s not real important, least for now. What is important, my friend, is what you want.”
The clinking of glass drew Preacher Man’s attention back to the dresser. The men were bringing out bottles of booze. They were setting up a bar!
A cold knot formed in his stomach.
Orbolitz glanced over his shoulder. “Just wanna make sure you got all the comforts of home. Or”—he turned back to him and grinned—“what you wish home had.”
“I don’t drink. I ain’t a drinker.”
“Not my understandin’, Billy Ray. I always heard ‘once an alchy, always an alchy.’”
“I been sober nearly four years now.”
“And that’s very commendable. I’m bettin’ God’s real happy with you.”
Preacher Man stole another glance to the dresser and saw the clear, amber, and chocolate-brown bottles. Scotch, bourbon, whisky, rum—they had them all.
“Which brings me to my question. How happy would He be if you didn’t?”
“Didn’t what?”
The knot grew bigger.
“A great man o’ God like you, one of His boys … what would happen if you suddenly turned back to your old ways. Back to the disgusting sins of your past?”
“I ain’t goin’ back.”
Orbolitz laughed. “Nice words, Billy.” He tapped his goggles. “But you’re not seein’ what I’m seein’.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean your glow, the outer part of it. It’s stretchin’ every way it can to take a gander at our little collection over there.”
“I ain’t goin’ back.”
“And should me and the fellas happen to leave it here overnight … well, what’s the ol’ saying, ‘The spirit is willin’ but the flesh is weak’? Or is it, ‘A dog returns to his vomit’?” He turned to the men. “Mr. Jefferson, get our boy some ice, will you? I hear he hates his screwdrivers warm.”
One of the men nodded and disappeared into the hall.
Turning back to Preacher Man, Orbolitz continued. “Things are gettin’ kinda exciting around here, wouldn’t you say? His Presence just keeps gettin’ hotter and hotter.”
“Brother … you don’t have to do this.”
“I don’t?”
“You can know what’ll happen when you die. You can go to heaven without even worryin’ ’bout it—all you gotta do is repent and accept Jesus.”
Orbolitz laughed. “And then what? Expect Him to throw His arms around me, say all is forgiven?”
“Yes … exactly.”
“You ever think maybe I don’t want to be forgiven?”
“Everyone wants to—”
“That I don’t need His handouts?”
“We all need—”
“I need nothing!” The outburst surprised them both. Covering it with a smile, Orbolitz continued. “Least not from Him.” He glanced over his shoulder. “Where is that boy? Jefferson!” There was no answer and he turned back to Preacher Man. “Let me tell you a little bit about me, son. My momma, she was a novice, goin’ to be a nun. Did you know that? Not even out of her teens ’fore she was molested by one of God’s holy servants. And when they didn’t buy ‘immaculate conception,’ they swept us both under the rug like a pair of cockroaches, off to some backwoods monastery, hopin’ we’d be forgotten.”
“I’m sorry to—”
“But I wasn’t forgotten.” His intensity grew. “Not by the sisters of charity … or their brothers. See, I became a symbol to them. A symbol of the world’s sin and immorality. And if they couldn’t stomp it out of the world, they could sure try to beat it out o’ me.”
Preacher Man lowered his eyes. But Orbolitz wasn’t done, not by a long shot.
“I used to hide under the altar, the last place Mother Superior would ever look for the Devil’s spawn. And I would sit there, sometimes for hours, just staring up at that bloody crucifix. We had so much in common, the two of us— rejected by our daddies, rejected by men.” His voice hardened. “And if that’s how God Almighty treated His own son, well, I sure wasn’t interested in joinin’ the family.”
Preacher Man felt his compassion rise. “But that was for you. The love of Jesus up on that cross, that was all for—”
“I don’t want His love! I want nothin’ from Him!” Then, a little softer, he added, “’Cept to beat Him at His own game.”
“But if you’d pray to Him. If you’d just ask—”
“Oh, I prayed, Preacher. All the time. ’Dear God, please … please make me the Antichrist. Please make me Your enemy. Please, let me be the one to show the world the truth and turn ’em against You.”
Preacher Man looked on. He could find no words.
Orbolitz answered the silence. “But like all my other prayers, it was ignored.”
The bodyguard entered the room with a bucket of ice.
Orbolitz smiled and turned. “Here we go. Pour this man a little vodka and orange juice, will you, Franklin. Heavy on the vodka.” He turned back to Preacher Man. “That is how you like it?”
“I ain’t goin’ to drink.”
“But you want to, don’t you?”
Preacher Man heard the seal breaking, his eyes involuntarily shooting to the bottle as its cap was unscrewed, its contents poured over the ice. He glanced away, but Orbolitz caught the look and smiled. “Once an alchy, always an alchy.”
Preacher Man took a breath. “It ain’t gonna happen.” As he spoke, the large flat disk beside his bed, the one that had remained at his side since he first began to glow, flickered, increasing in brightness.
He heard more liquid pouring, looked over to see freshly squeezed orange juice spilling from the sparkling cut-glass decanter. Memories began to surface. Warm, pleasant.
Orbolitz chuckled, again tapping his goggles. “Yes, sir, you’re becomin’ quite a sight.”
Preacher Man swallowed. “I ain’t gonna drink.”
“Actually, you won’t have a choice in the matter. Not in the beginning. How we comin’ there, gentlemen?”
Jefferson approached and handed Orbolitz the drink. The man took it and rose, motioning for both guards to accompany him.
Preacher Man stiffened as they approached. “No …” He pulled back until Jefferson took his shoulders and pinned them down on the mattress. He kicked and squirmed until the other man grabbed his legs, laying over his waist and thighs.
“No … I will not—”
“You misunderstand.” Orbolitz approached, hovering over him in his goggles. “Nobody’s askin’.”
He brought the glass forward. Preacher Man tried to turn, to kick—but they held him tight. Jefferson grabbed his face, digging his fingers into the nerves just below his ears—so hard, that Preacher Man cried out until a plastic mouthpiece was suddenly shoved between his teeth. He tried spitting it out, but it was too big. He pushed at it with his tongue, but it would not budge. Orbolitz brought the glass to the edge of his lips and began to pour. The liquid burned. Preacher Man closed the back of his throat and it flooded out of his mouth until Orbolitz pinched his nose and he gasped for breath. He choked, he gagged, but Orbolitz continued pouring, filling his mouth with the burning liquid that he so hated, that tasted so sweet and familiar and—
“First one’s on the house,” Orbolitz laughed.
He continued choking and gagging, fighting not to drown, the only solution being to drink, to swallow the burn, to gulp the heat, feeling it warm his throat …
“Maybe the first couple—”
… the soothing, comforting warmth …
“—after that, you’re on your own.”
… the warmth that had brought such peace in the past, so many pleasures, warming his gut and, very shortly, his mind.